Christian Vocations

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

George Sim Johnston presents a convincing case for maintaining the celibate priesthood.

Each month, when I face an auditorium full of engaged couples preparing for a Catholic marriage, there is a Q-and-A session. It is the interesting, unrehearsed part of the evening. The couples write their queries on a piece of paper, and the anonymity guarantees at least a few hardball questions about the Church and its practices. "What about Galileo?" is among my favorites, along with inquisitive notes about Torquemada. But the majority of these "zingers" turn out to be protests about the Church's rule of clerical celibacy. "You've told us how wonderful marriage is, that it's a great good for the human person, that the body has a nuptial meaning, and so forth. Well, then: Why can't priests marry?"

It is a question that comes up among even devout Catholics at coffee hour after Mass and at cocktail parties. A married clergy is seen as the obvious solution to a number of problems that confront the Church, ranging from the shortage of priests to the recent sex scandals. Moreover, both the Eastern Orthodox and Eastern Rite Catholic churches allow married clergy. So do Protestants; and, in fact, the rejection of clerical celibacy was a much larger issue for the leaders of the Reformation than the fuss over indulgences. Luther, Zwingli, Carlstadt, Bucer, and many other rebellious priests soon took wives (often former nuns), while Thomas Cranmer already had one hidden in Germany. During the Council of Trent, powerful rulers like the Emperor Ferdinand put enormous pressure on the Church to abolish the law of celibacy, but the popes resolutely declined, and have done so ever since.

The agitation for a married priesthood has sharpened in recent decades. There is a drumbeat in the media, often from ex-priests who write copiously for the op-ed pages. Probably a majority of American Catholics also favor the change. So, it's not surprising that my engaged couples think that Rome should "get with the times" and allow priests to marry. Isn't the rule of celibacy simply another example of a retrograde Church sitting on somebody's rights?

I surprise my audience by first telling them that clerical celibacy is not a Church doctrine. It is a discipline, and so can be changed. The pope could wake up tomorrow and allow priests to marry. Moreover, in the early centuries there were married priests, starting with some of the apostles. We know that Peter was married, because we're told that Jesus cured his mother-in-law. The immediate successors to the apostles were also allowed to marry. Paul writes to Timothy that a bishop should be "married but once." Clearly, by not permitting married clergy, the Church since the early Middle Ages has departed from the more commodious practice of the early hierarchy.

But — a further surprise for my audience — there are, in fact, married priests in the Latin Church today. There aren't many, because a priest may have a wife only in one circumstance: A Lutheran or Episcopalian minister who is already married and wishes to convert to Catholicism is allowed the option of becoming a Catholic priest, on condition that his wife gives full consent. You don't usually see these married priests, because they're generally not given parish assignments; they teach in seminaries or work in the chancery.

But this one exception to the general rule is the occasion of a story that I tell my audience. It is about a friend of mine who is now a prominent Catholic moral theologian. Years ago, he was an Episcopalian priest who decided to convert to Catholicism. He was married with children and was given the option of becoming a Catholic priest. He agonized over the decision. He was already an ordained minister (although the Church does not recognize the validity of Episcopalian orders) and was deeply attracted to the Catholic priesthood. But at the same time, he recognized that there must be serious reasons why the Church insists on a discipline that is such a sign of contradiction to the modern world.

The debate went on, until finally there came the moment of clarification. He was up all night with one of his children who was seriously ill. Feeling drained and haggard, he went to Mass the next morning, and the priest celebrating Mass came out looking equally drawn. During the brief homily, the priest mentioned in passing that he had been up all night with a parishioner's child who was dying of meningitis. A light bulb went off over my friend's head: You can't do both. If you fully understand the vocations to marriage and to the priesthood — the total availability and self-emptying that each demands — you would not choose to do both. And so he became a lay theologian and, apart from raising a large family, has served the Church in ways that he probably could not have as a member of the clergy.

As my bleary-eyed friend discovered at that early morning Mass, the sacraments of Holy Orders and matrimony are too consuming to allow for both. A married priest can't help giving his first thoughts to his wife and children. To the extent he does so, he may be forgoing his priestly role as "father," and people who call a married priest "father" would rightly get the idea that they are second in line as spiritual children. Paul understood this perfectly well when he wrote to the Corinthians, "For he who is without a wife is solicitous for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please God. But he that is with a wife, is solicitous for the things of this world, how he may please his wife; and he is divided" (1 Cor 7:32-34).

There are many reasons, both practical and theological, why the Church insists on clerical celibacy. It is a wise practice that was gradually codified in light of centuries of accumulated knowledge and experience. Early on, it became obvious to many bishops that a married priesthood doesn't work and that the Church needs men who are willing to embrace a higher spiritual state. Starting with the Spanish Council of Elvira in 305, regional churches began to ask of the clergy what many priests had already spontaneously chosen. The early Church Fathers — Tertullian, Augustine, Ambrose, Jerome, and Hilary — wrote in favor of clerical celibacy, and at the end of the Dark Ages, great reforming popes like Leo IX and Gregory VII insisted that henceforth the priesthood would be celibate. This decision greatly strengthened the Church and still does so today.

Admittedly, there's no hint in the New Testament of celibacy being mandatory either among the apostles or those they ordained. But we have ample warrant in the words of Christ and the writings of Paul that celibacy is a higher calling than marriage. Christ Himself was celibate, and the Incarnation took place, so to speak, in the context of Mary and Joseph's abstention from sexual relations. Pope Benedict XVI has written eloquently about how Mary's virginity is really a condition of spiritual fruitfulness. At one point, the disciples ask Christ if it is "expedient not to marry?" He replies that "not all can accept this teaching; but those to whom it has been given. For there are eunuchs who were born so...and there are eunuchs who have made themselves so for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Let him accept it who can" (Mt 19:10-12).

As Christopher West points out, Christ's use of the word "eunuch" must have profoundly shocked his Jewish listeners. Under the Old Covenant, priests were enjoined to marry and have children who would become priests. Childlessness was seen as a curse, and the idea of a descendant of Abraham opting to be a "eunuch" was unthinkable. But the celibate lives of Mary and Joseph, who brought the Old Covenant to perfection, speak of a new dimension of self-giving. West writes that their celibacy, in effect, brings about "the most fruitful union in the cosmos — the union of the human and divine natures in the person of Christ. All those who live an authentic celibate vocation participate in some way in this new super-abounding spiritual fruitfulness."

There has always been a deep human intuition that celibacy brings great spiritual gifts, a heightened sensitivity to divine things. Even under the Old Covenant, a married priest had to observe continence while he served in the Temple — in other words, when he was acting as priest. Moses asked that the Jews abstain from conjugal sex while he ascended Mount Sinai, and the prophet Jeremiah was forbidden by God to take a wife in order that he might fulfill his ministry. And although the apostles and their successors had freedom of choice in this matter — at least until the fourth century — a large number of the clergy during this period did choose celibacy. There is a tradition that after their calling by Christ, those apostles who were married lived as though they were not. St. Jerome speaks of a general custom in the late fourth century when he declares that clerics, "even though they may have wives, cease to be husbands." This is not so exotic as it sounds; in the 20th century the great French theologian Jacques Maritain and his wife Raissa, a Jewish convert, had a marriage blanc (unconsummated) for the sake of their spiritual apostleship.

The exaltation of celibacy does not in any way denigrate marriage. Nobody can outdo Pope John Paul II in praising conjugal love. And yet, as he points out in his famous talks on the theology of the body, marriage "is only a tentative solution to the problem of a union of persons through love." The final solution lies only in heaven, where, as Christ explained to the Sadducees, there is no marriage. Those who live celibately are, in effect, "skipping" the sacrament in anticipation of the ultimate reality, the "Marriage of the Lamb." They are an "eschatological sign" for the rest of us; their total gift of self, which includes their sexuality, to God anticipates the eternal union for which we were all created. The celibate vocation, West writes, "is 'superior' only in its more direct orientation toward man's superior heavenly destiny."

A married clergy would certainly dilute the Catholic priesthood as an eschatological sign. But it would also involve practical problems. One of the great strengths of an unmarried clergy is their availability. During World War I, there were many converts to Catholicism among British soldiers fighting in the trenches. This was because the Catholic priests were right up there in the danger zone, hearing confessions and giving spiritual counsel, while many Anglican ministers held back, understandably thinking about their wives and children at home. Recently, a priest I know expressed delight at being assigned to an impoverished area of New York. "I want to work among the poor," he told me. Would this be his attitude if he were married with small children? His wife's probable reaction would be, "I'm not going to raise the kids in that neighborhood."

Clerical marriages, moreover, are not easy. I am told that the wives of the handful of Catholic clergy who have the dispensation from celibacy are the first to support the Church's general position. Preachers' wives and preachers' kids do not have an easy time. Just read the novels of Trollope or Samuel Butler's much underrated The Way of All Flesh, whose narrator complains about being the son of a clergyman:

I have often thought that the Church of Rome does wisely in not allowing her priests to marry. Certainly it is a matter of common observation in England that the sons of clergymen are frequently unsatisfactory. The explanation is very simple.... The clergyman is expected to be a kind of human Sunday. He is paid for this business of leading a stricter life than other people. It is his raison d'etre. If his parishioners feel that he does this, they approve of him, for they look upon him as their own contribution towards what they deem a holy life.... But his home is his castle as much as that of any other Englishman, and with him, as with others, unnatural tension in public is followed by exhaustion when tension is no longer necessary. His children are the most defenseless things he can reach, and it is on them that nine cases out of ten that he will relieve his mind.

Obviously, not all married clergymen are like this, but clerical marriages have their special difficulties, and, unlike 130 years ago, when Butler wrote his novel, there is now the possibility of divorce. This is already a serious problem in the Anglican Church. It is inevitable that after a decade or so of a married Catholic priesthood, there would be a fair number of divorced priests, some clamoring for remarriage. And as for those priests who still chose not to marry: Might there not be a corresponding diminishment of their public image, so that they would tend to be regarded more as pious bachelors than a special sign among us? Their freedom to get romantically involved with female parishioners gives such questions even more point.

Another practical consideration is the financial cost of allowing priests to marry. The average salary of a diocesan priest is $20,000, and living arrangements in a parish rectory allow for many economies. Married priests would most likely want to live outside the rectory, would need much higher salaries to support a family, and there would be an exponential increase in insurance costs. Where would the money come from? As it is, many parishes can barely pay their bills. Will Catholics in the pews be willing to significantly increase their weekly contributions? The answer is that some will, but many will not, and too many parishes would find themselves in an even deeper financial hole.

The most insistent argument for a married clergy is that it would cure the shortage of priests. The reasons for the decline in the number of clergy are too numerous to go into here. Almost every Catholic shares some of the blame. On the institutional side, there's the past situation in many seminaries and the refusal of some diocesan vocation directors to present the priesthood in its full spiritual dimension, which includes the challenge of celibacy. If you look around today, it is striking which dioceses (for example, Denver) have plentiful vocations. They raise the bar very high and, taking a page from John Paul II, present celibacy as a great spiritual gift. In contrast, some dioceses, until recently, held out to seminarians the possibility of a reversal of the rule of celibacy; they certainly did not present celibacy in a positive light. Those dioceses with near-empty seminaries might want to look at those that are doing it right. They will find — among other things — a vibrant orthodoxy and a theologically rich understanding of the call to celibacy.

As for the Catholic laity: Along with the widespread use of the Pill, there has been a corresponding diminution of generosity in family size, which means fewer vocations. (One could make the case, by the way, that natural family planning allows a couple to participate in the spiritual benefits of celibacy; the periodic abstinence is part of the "gift" of themselves to one another and to God.) But the point is that there will be many more vocations if both the clergy and the laity fully live their Christian vocations, which include prayer, sacrifice, and generosity. Although it may be tempting in the short term, the solution is not to define the priesthood down in order to attract men who will only take a lightened version of Holy Orders.

The other argument against celibacy is that the Church's requirement of continence is a primary cause of the sex scandals. Plying their Freud, "experts" like Richard Sipe argue that a lack of sexual outlets drives priests into pedophilia. But the recent scandals have little to do with pedophilia, a clinical disorder whose incidence among Catholic priests is no greater than among the general population. Rather, the majority of episodes involves homosexual acts with teenagers or young men, and it may be wondered how marriage would solve this particular problem. It is clear that not a few homosexual men have entered the priesthood partly as a "cover" for their condition. Arguably, it would only make matters worse if they had to take on a wife as additional camouflage. In any event, it wouldn't stop some of them from going after teenage boys, as has been amply demonstrated in other clerical milieu.

It should also be pointed out that Freud was wrong about the nature and effects of "sexual repression" — in other words, abstinence. He considered it the taproot of all neuroses, and the sexual revolution has been driven by his idea that such "repression" is a very bad thing. But we all know celibate priests — and laity, for that matter — who are adjusted and well-balanced. We also meet promiscuous individuals who are not. Freud nonetheless taught that the libido is a pressure that builds relentlessly to the point where it demands release, as in a steam engine; and if you don't find a sexual outlet, you become neurotic, or even worse.

But, in fact, our sex drives don't work that way. There is no build-up of pressure in the central nervous system, and the libido doesn't plot revenge if for whatever reason one is continent for a period of time. It largely depends on what "messages" one allows to get through to it, which is why the Church has always taught the necessity of guarding one's eyes and imagination. This is not Puritanism, but self-possession; and all Christians, not just Catholic priests, are called to this heroic struggle. The more likely neurotics are those who separate sex from married love and, in the process, compulsively turn people into objects, into a means to an end. The sexual revolution, which amounted to a willful misreading of human nature, has failed on its own terms, but there are still those who want the Church to buy into it.

In a world that has absolutized sex, a celibate priesthood is a necessary sign of higher things. It's tough, but then so is Christianity. Those who wish to abolish celibacy generally favor other dilutions of Catholic doctrine and discipline. They are pursuing an essentially bourgeois project. They think that Christianity is fine so long as it makes no demands and, as a corollary, that the Church should turn itself into yet another liberal Protestant denomination. But these leftover modernists are no longer in the ascendancy, if they ever were, and it is not surprising that the recent synod of bishops in Rome overwhelmingly endorsed the Church's ancient discipline of celibacy.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Read the following article on the intimate relationship between personal sacrifice and priestly vocations. Then answer the following questions:

Ordained to Sacrifice . . .Sacrifice and Vocations

by Fr. John Hardon, S.J.

Every vocation is born of sacrifice, is maintained by sacrifice, and is measured in the apostolate by the sacrifice of those whom God calls to the priesthood or the religious life. This should not be surprising, once we realize that it was by His sacrifice that Christ redeemed the world. The servant is not greater than his Master. In fact, the more intimate one's vocation to the service of Christ, the more demanding will be the sacrifices required.

Barring an extraordinary grace from God, He generally calls those persons to follow Him as priests or religious who have been taught the value of sacrifice from childhood. The experience of self-denial in the use and enjoyment of material things is the normal predisposition for a lifetime practice of evangelical poverty. Training in self-control of the senses, especially in the use of the media, is the ordinary preparation for a lifelong dedication to consecrated chastity. Careful and loving nurture in self-denial, almost from infancy, is God's usual way of conditioning the human will for commitment to the counsel of obedience.

If sacrifice in childhood and young adulthood is the seedbed of vocations, continued fidelity in serving the Church is impossible without the habit of self-surrender. There are many reasons for the tragic loss of so many once-dedicated persons in affluent countries like America. But surely one of these reasons is the prior loss of a willingness to give in to the sometimes hard demands of Christ's love. We may, therefore, say that vocations are nourished on sacrifice as the body is sustained on food. Or, as the Savior told His followers — and bade them follow His example — "My food is to do the will of him who sent me" (Jn. 4:34).

Sacrifice is, finally, the condition and norm of apostolic work in the priesthood and religious life. Who have been the great achievers in the vineyard of the Lord over the centuries? Have they not been the men and women who never said "enough" in their zeal for souls; who labored, like St. Paul, in season and out of season, selflessly and exhaustingly; who never counted the cost in time or effort or personal preference; in a word, who lived lives of heroic sacrifice?

All of this is common knowledge for those who have come to know Christ who, "having joy set before Him, chose the Cross." But this kind of knowledge needs to be taught — and learned — if the vocations which the Church so desperately needs are to be fostered and preserved in our day.

QUESTSIONS:

1.The author claims that the more intimately one is to follow Christ the more sacrifice is to be required. How is one supposed to desire following Christ in light of this?

2.If sacrifice from childhood is the seedbed of priestly vocations, then have we deprived ourselves of priests by trying to give our children everything?

3.What are the “hard demands of Christ’s love” and why don’t you give in to them?

4.How can sacrifice, self-denial, and self-control be “taught”? What types of experiences have taught you these things? What has taught you their opposites?

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

A while back I spoke at a dinner meeting of two Catholic lay organizations concerned about the troubled state of priestly and religious vocations. I'd been asked to talk on the topic of a book I wrote with the theologian and philosopher Germain Grisez entitled Personal Vocation: God Calls Everyone by Name (Our Sunday Visitor, 2003). It was a warm, sociable occasion, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Before dinner I was introduced to the young priest who is the vocations director for the diocese. A personable, friendly man, he's undoubtedly very good at his job. Best of all (to me at least), he said he had read my book and agreed with it. What more can an author ask?

But he had a problem — a mystery, really — that he couldn't solve. Whenever he went into a Catholic school classroom to talk to the kids, he made it a point to say that all of them had personal vocations. Then, before leaving, he'd ask how many had vocations and invite a show of hands.

None of the kids ever raised a hand.

Now, he asked, what was the reason for that? I had no quick and easy answer, and before we could ponder the mystery further, it was time to eat.

After dinner, I spoke. Then the vocation director was called on to say a few words. He gave what I took to be his standard vocations talk, and as he did a light bulb came on in my head. Now I knew why those kids didn't raise their hands.

Although the priest tells them that they each have a personal vocation, the kids he speaks to aren't buying it, because it's clear that when he gets serious about vocations, he means a calling to the priesthood or religious life — period. They suspect that something bad will happen if they put their hands up — they'll get put on a mailing list, be hauled off to some kind of program downtown or out at the seminary, and who knows what else? Worst of all, their parents might get a phone call or a letter. They could find themselves drawn into a process they aren't ready for.

Stop the vocation recruitment machine. I want to get off!

That's about where we are now in the Church on the subject of vocation. The idea of personal vocation is in the air, but it's vocation as a calling to the priesthood or religious life that still really counts. That is a mistake.

All the same, you can see why that young priest is anxious about priestly and religious vocations. As this is written, the figures available show 44,212 priests in the United States (29,483 diocesan and 14,729 religious). Forty years ago, there were 58,632 priests (35,925 diocesan and 22,707 religious). Back then, too, there were 48,992 seminarians; now it's a measly 4,330. Proportionally as well as absolutely, the decline in the number of religious women has been even steeper: 179,954 then, 71,486 now. The news is bad, and it's getting worse.

Discernment, Not Recruitment

Yet there is no shortage of vocations in the Catholic Church — in the United States or any place else. What we're seeing is a shortage of vocational discernment. Not enough people ask themselves what God wants them to do with their lives. Discernment — not recruitment — should be central to vocations efforts today. And personal vocation should be at the heart of it.

In religious talk, the word vocation refers to three different things:

First is the common Christian vocation, which comes with baptism and is shared by all members of the Church. It consists in the commitment of faith and what follows from it: loving and serving God above all else, loving and serving neighbor as oneself, and collaborating in continuing the redemptive work of Christ, which is the mission of the Church.

The second meaning is state in life. A "state" puts some flesh on the bones of the common Christian vocation. It's a broad, overarching commitment to a particular Christian lifestyle. As such, a state in life sets someone choosing it on a path that will shape his character through the countless choices and actions required to follow it to the end. The clerical life, the consecrated life, the state of marriage, and the single lay state in the world are states in life.

Third is personal vocation. It's the unique combination of commitments, relationships, obligations, opportunities, strengths, and weaknesses — understood as representing God's will — in and through which the common Christian vocation and a state in life are expressed by someone (priest, religious, layperson) trying to know and live the life God has in mind for him. It is the singular, unrepeatable role in his redemptive plan that God intends for each of us.

"Every life is a vocation," Pope John Paul II says. And so it is — a unique, personal vocation.

This idea isn't new. Hints of it, and sometimes more, can be found in St. Ignatius of Loyola, St. Francis de Sales, Cardinal Newman, and other masters of the spiritual life. In recent times, Pope John Paul has spoken about personal vocation more than anyone else — so much, in fact, that it's one of the central themes of his teaching as pope.

In Catholic circles, it is sometimes taken for granted that a vocation is a calling to the priesthood or religious life. And only that. That thinking persists. Consider how the word vocation is commonly used.

A "vocation director" is someone in a diocese or religious community responsible for recruiting new candidates for the priesthood and religious life. A "vocation program" is a program for recruiting and screening them. The idea that everyone has a personal vocation because everyone has a unique job to do in continuing Christ's work hasn't yet been recognized in many quarters.

That naturally discourages people who don't immediately feel called to the clerical state (priesthood) or consecrated life (monks and nuns) from engaging in vocational discernment. "I don't feel called to be a priest or a religious," they reason, "so I'm off the hook." If they did practice discernment, of course, they would learn that God is calling them — and, in more than a few cases, the call is to the priesthood or religious life.

Ever-Clearer Discovery

The idea of personal vocation radically changes all that. Everyone needs to discern a personal vocation, for that is the way to discover the role God wishes each to play in his redemptive plan. This is consistent with both the Protestant belief that every Christian has such a role and the Catholic belief that the role for some Christians includes ordained priesthood or the consecrated life.

In his document on the laity, Christifideles Laici (On the Vocation of the Lay Faithful), which appeared in 1989, Pope John Paul says flatly that "an ever-clearer discovery of one's vocation" is "the fundamental objective of the formation of the lay faithful" (58). He also makes the point that discovering a personal vocation is "a gradual process . . . one that happens day by day."

To be sure, there are times in everyone's life when discernment — prayerful reflection, preferably with the guidance of a spiritual director — is especially necessary as a prelude to making a major, life-determining choice. Nevertheless, vocational discernment of a simpler sort is necessary on a day-to-day basis.

It involves ongoing reflection on the current circumstances of our lives to see where the opportunities for service in the Church and in the world lie. This reflects something Cardinal Newman said: "We are not called once only, but many times; all through our life Christ is calling us . . . from grace to grace, and from holiness to holiness, while life is given us."

More Than a Plan

Vocational discernment is not the same things as planning one's life. Planning is good and necessary, but it should be done within the framework of the vocation one has discerned, not in place of discernment.

Typically, people who plan but don't discern organize their lives in light of goals that promise personal satisfaction. This may even be the satisfaction that comes from generous, altruistic deeds. But even where that's so, the difference between discerning and planning stands. The central issue for people who plan is: "What will make me happy? How can I get the most satisfaction for myself?" For those who discern, the fundamental question is: "What does God want from me?"

Paradoxically, of course, the latter approach turns out to be more satisfying — and more exciting. Fr. Walter Ciszek, S.J., the Polish-American priest who spent many years in prisons and prison camps in the Soviet Union during and after World War II, caught the essence of it in these words:

"God has a special purpose, a special love, a special providence for all those he has created. God cares for each of us individually, watches over us, provides for us. The circumstances of each day of our lives, of every moment of every day, are provided for us by him . . . [This] means . . . that every moment of our life has a purpose, that every action of ours, no matter how dull or routine or trivial it may seem in itself, has a dignity and worth beyond human understanding. No man's life is insignificant in God's sight."

We find our personal vocations, and we accept or reject them, live them out or fail, in "the circumstances of each day of our lives, of every moment of every day." Not so coincidentally, finding God's will for oneself, accepting it, and living it out are what it means to be a saint.

After reading the article, “Do You Have a Vocation?” by Russel Shaw, answer each of the following questions. To adequately answer most questions will require that you write a paragraph of five to seven complete sentences.

What question did the vocations director always ask at the conclusion of his talks with high school students? Why did he always receive the same response every time?

The author writes: “The idea of personal vocation is in the air, but it's vocation as a calling to the priesthood or religious life that still really counts. That is a mistake.” Explain how the bishops of Vatican II tried to prevent this mistaken mentality from arising.

What has the percentage of decline been for priestly vocations in the last forty years? Seminarians? Nuns & Sisters? What do you think the various factors are that could have contributed to these declining numbers? Which factor do you suspect is most responsible for this decline and why?

Despite these declining percentages, the author maintains that the Church is not suffering from a shortage of vocations. What does he claim the real shortage is facing the Church?

Briefly summarize what the three different meanings of vocation are in the religious sense.

How does shifting focus from vocation as an abstract, one size-fits all concept to the idea of personal vocation mutually benefit both the Church and the individual?(Note, this is a critical thinking question. You will not “find” the answer in the text.)

Pope John Paul II points out that vocational discernment is a gradual process rather than an abrupt one. Do you find that to be reassuring or disheartening? Why?

What is the difference between planning or organizing one’s life on the one hand and discerning one’s vocation on the other?

What is the paradox of saying that our lives will be happier if we discern what God wants for us than if we simply focus on what we want for ourselves?

Friday, February 18, 2011

1. Kreeft recommends that we look to the saints to help us int he discernment process. What two things do the saints tell us about discernment?

2. Do these two things (mentioned above) pull us in opposite directions? Explain.

3. Consider a decision you are making or will be making soon. What is the “Data that you know for sure” that you will bring to bear on the unknown as you discern God's will?

4. Why do the Saints understand the Bible better than theologians? Can you be both?

5. What is meant by having a soft heart and a hard head? Give an example to illustrate your understanding.

6. Kreeft recommends that we enjoy some of life's simple pleasures to keep us grounded in our decision making. What are some of life’s simple pleasures for you?

7. How do you feel knowing that even the saints did not always have certainty in knowing God’s will in every decision?

8. What is the role of Doctrine, Dogma, Commandments, and Moral Law in our discernment of God’s will?

9. When we think of a nun, a priest, a father, or a wife, we often think of very one dimensional people, but the author points out that there is a great diversity of personalities fulfilling all of these roles. Do you think failing to recognize this diversity makes it difficult to envision yourself in these roles?

10. If all of our guides (parents, teachers, conscience, "heart") are imperfect are any of them still worth following? Explain.

11. Discernment is often choosing between multiple good choices. Do you think that makes it easier or harder than choosing between a good choice and a bad choice? Explain.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

The following reading is adapted from an article on discernment by Peter Kreeft.

Does God have one right choice for me in each decision I make? When we pray for wisdom to discern God's will when it comes to choosing a mate, a career, a job change, a move, a home, a school, a friend, a vacation, how to spend money, or any other choice, big or little, whenever there are two or more different paths opening up before us and we have to choose, does God always will one of those paths for us? If so, how do we discern it?

Many Christians who struggle with this question today are unaware that Christians of the past can help them from their own experience. Christian wisdom embodied in the lives and teachings of the saints tells us two things that are relevant to this question.

First, they tell us that God not only knows and loves us in general but that he cares about every detail of our lives, and we are to seek to walk in his will in all things, big and little. Second, they tell us that he has given us free will and reason because he wants us to use it to make decisions. This tradition is exemplified in Saint Augustine's famous motto "Love God and [then] do what you will." In other words, if you truly love God and his will, then doing what you will, will, in fact, be doing what God wills.

Do these two pieces of advice pull us in opposite directions, or do they only seem to? Since there is obviously a great truth embodied in both of them, which do we emphasize the most to resolve our question of whether God has one right way for us?

I think the first and most obvious answer to this question is that it depends on which people are asking it. We have a tendency to emphasize one half of the truth at the expense of the other half, and we can do that in either of the two ways. Every heresy in the history of theology fits this pattern: for instance, emphasizing Christ's divinity at the expense of his humanity or his humanity at the expense of his divinity; or emphasizing divine sovereignty at the expense of free will or free will at the expense of divine sovereignty.

Five general principles of discernment of God's will that apply to all questions about it, and therefore to our question too, are the following:

A. Always begin with data, with what we know for sure. Judge the unknown by the known, the uncertain by the certain. Adam and Eve neglected that principle in Eden and ignored God's clear command and warning for the devil's promised pig in a poke.

B. Let your heart educate your mind. Let your love of God educate your reason in discerning his will. Jesus teaches this principle in John 7:17 to the Pharisees. (Would that certain Scripture scholars today would heed it!) They were asking how they could interpret his words, and he gave them the first principle of hermeneutics (the science of interpretation): "If your will were to do the will of my Father, you would understand my teaching." The saints understand the Bible better than the theologians, because they understand its primary author, God, by loving him with their whole heart and their whole mind.

C. Have a soft heart but a hard head. We should be "wise as serpents and harmless as doves," sharp as a fox in thought but loyal as a dog in will and deed. Soft-heartedness does not excuse soft-headedness, and hard-headedness does not excuse hard-heartedness. In our hearts we should be "bleeding-heart liberals" and in our heads "stuck-in-the-mud conservatives."

D. All God's signs should line up. There are at least seven such signs: (1) Scripture, (2) church teaching, (3) human reason (which God created), (4) the appropriate situation, or circumstances (which he controls by his providence), (5) conscience, our innate sense of right and wrong, (6) our individual personal bent or desire or instincts, and (7) prayer. Test your choice by holding it up before God's face. If one of these seven voices says no, don't do it. If none say no, do it.

E. Look for the fruits of the spirit, especially the first three: love, joy, and peace. If we are angry and anxious and worried, loveless and joyless and peaceless, we have no right to say we are sure of being securely in God's will. Discernment itself should not be a stiff, brittle, anxious thing, but — since it too is part of God's will for our lives — loving and joyful and peace-filled, more like a game than a war, more like writing love letters than taking final exams.

Now to our question. Does God have just one right choice for me to make each time? If so, I must find it. If not, I should relax more and be a little looser. Here are some clues to the answer. (The remainder of the article is abridged by the instructor.)

1. We must not get bent out of shape trying to find God’s perfect will for us. Doing so will only make us anxious, fearful, humorless, and stuffy. We should instead stop and enjoy the simple pleasures in life – the little silly things that add a whimsical nature to life.

2. We must realize that most Christians, even many of the saints, did not have the clear discernment from God that we might want. They did not know what God willed in every little choice. We should not expect that we would have such particular knowledge.

3.Look at Scripture as a model for how God reveals His will to His people. Realize that many of these instances are miraculous revelations, but even then, the individuals are fraught with uncertainty, feelings of unworthiness, or even fear.

4. God did give us free will. Why did God bestow upon us this faculty which is both a blessing and a burden? Well, it adds an infinite value to our love and affection because it is not forced or instinctive, but rather the result of our choice. Secondly, it enables us to participate in the joy of discovery and discernment. Occasionally a teacher will pause after asking a question – not to relish in withholding the answer, but to give students an opportunity to arrive at the answer on their own. In formulating the answer they learn to exercise their reason and judgment.

Reason and free will are a team. They always go together because reason without will is captivity, and will without reason is reckless. God provides supernatural revelation to guide both aspects: Doctrine & Dogma guide our reason while commandments and moral law guide our will. These abilities, together with God’s guidance give us the equipment we need to discern God’s will and apply it to our own decisions and actions. We must take these gifts and invest them rather than bury them in the ground where they remain unused.

Furthermore, God’s guidance is not too structured. One can always seek and find more specific and detailed knowledge, but the basics of the faith are very brief and straightforward. This is because God respects the diversity of our personalities. He wants our lives to be his song of praise, and the chorus of humanity should sing in harmony, but not in unison.

There are a number of popular ways out there that promise insight into ourselves, and many people commit themselves to this kind of introspection. The key to real discernment seems it would be to figure out God’s will and your neighbor’s needs. Focus more on those and less on one’s self. Use God’s gift of freedom to “play around” a bit. G.K. Chesterton said that God’s commandments are indeed like a fence that surrounds a playground. The fence is not there to confine those on the playground, but to liberate them to play safely without fear of danger.

To some extent following our hearts means following our instincts and desires. Each of us has a different set of instincts and desires. Sin infects them, of course. But sin infects our reason and our bodies too; yet we are supposed to follow our bodily instincts (for example, hunger and self-preservation) and our mind's instincts (for example, curiosity and logic). Ultimately I think God wants us to follow our hearts.

I am not suggesting, of course, that our hearts are infallible, or that following them justifies sinful behavior. Nor am I suggesting that the heart is the only thing to follow.. But surely it is God who designed our hearts — the spiritual heart with desire and will as much as the physical heart with aorta and valves. Our parents are sinful and fallible guides too, but God gave them to us to follow. So our hearts can be worth following too even though they are sinful and fallible. If your heart loves God, it is worth following. If it doesn't, then you're not interested in the problem of discernment of his will anyway.

5. We should follow St. Augustine's advice to "love God and then do what you will.” When we do, we usually experience great relief and peace. That is because true peace is a mark of the Holy Spirit.

An important part of discernment is trusting God to guide us along the right path. In some instances it is enough to place one’s self in God’s hands, commit to working to build up of His kingdom, and then trusting Him to guide you as you follow your own interests and instincts. Like a true Father, God won’t do the work for you, but will offer guidance and encouragement, correction, and affirmation.

6. Know that there are multiple good choices out there. This is what makes discernment difficult because we are not choosing between a good choice and a bad one – that is usually obvious. Instead we have to choose between two or more good things. We should take comfort in the idea that there are many good paths, and if we stay in God’s will we are bound to find ourselves upon one of them.

God’s will and our freedom do not conflict or compete. Rather, God takes the risk of giving us free will and saying to us, "Your will be done." The challenge of a Christian Vocation is to turn back to him and say: "My will is that your will be done." That is obedience to the first and greatest commandment. Then, when we do that, he turns to us and says: "And now, your will be done." And then he writes the story of our lives with the pen strokes of our own free choices.